


Unlike the rain

by Tod (naughtod)



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Dorks in Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Smut, In my mind this has a plot but the actual thing probably has none, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtod/pseuds/Tod
Summary: Unlike the rain, Launchpad promises to stay.





	Unlike the rain

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the most vanilla person in this entire world so don't expect big things for me.

“Do you think is it gonna take long?”

“No sweat, DW. The Ratcatcher is gonna be ready to roam the streets in no time!”

Drake hums approvingly, an appreciative lopsided smile to Launchpad’s work on the motorcycle. The sound of approval tickles Launchpad’s strings but he continues to work as nothing has happened.

They keep like that for a while, with Launchpad’s working on the pretty much wrecked Ratcatcher 2.0 just behind the manor, and Drake talking about the recollection of the events that lead to that, or about the latest audition he did or about one of his theories of what became the last episode of Darkwing Duck after its cancellation. Launchpad answers to all of these with enthusiasm, the constant auditory stimulus provided by Drake’s voice helping him to concentrate more on what he is working on.

Just when he is about to answer to Drake’s latest theory with one of his own, he feels something little and wet fall on his beak.

“Buh?”

Then another, and another and before he knows it, a soft rain is falling over them.

“It’s raining!” It isn’t the silly restatement of the obvious what calls Launchpad’s attention, it's the childish joy that comes with it what does. He turns around quickly to see Drake smiling happily to the sky.

“You like it?” Launchpad doesn’t want to sound as surprised as he does, but he can’t begin to care when a little blush appears in Drake’s beak.

He shrugs to the side, seeming embarrassed by the fact, but that doesn’t deter him from smiling wistfully to the sky. “It depends, I guess. Right now it doesn’t annoy me.”

He closes his eyes, his face still aimed to the sky with that content smile, letting the soft rain soak him, his hair beginning to stick to his forehead, his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths, and strangely, Launchpad’s heart stops at the sight.

It feels like catharsis, the blissful expression on Drake's face tugs something in Launchpad that he is a little scared to address yet, everything he has been feeling for him coming to some kind of grand realization of how completely and deeply he has fallen for the duck beside him. Launchpad tries hard but he can’t help his thought from going south, his eyes still fixated on Drake’s frame being soaked by the rain.

Launchpad gulps when he follows with his eyes a specific drop that has fallen on Drake's hair and is now traveling down his face and then his chest and disappears in his plaid shirt. He desperately wants to wash off the next one that goes the same path.

His hand goes forward mindlessly, to reach something his brain hasn't registered. It isn't until he realizes Drake is watching his hand with a confused and flushed expression that he understands what he is doing. Launchpad immediately retracts it with sudden shame and Drake seems to be more startled by that action than the initial one.

"LP, are you okay?"

Launchpad gulps and nods, a strained smile on his face. There's a tight pressure in his gut that the cold rain is not washing away. "Yeah, just... Let's get inside, don't want to get sick, right?"

Drake doesn't seem completely convinced but he accepts, letting Launchpad guide him around until they sneak into the garage. It isn't until Drake is no longer under the rain that he realizes how truly drenched to the bone he is, trembling like a leaf and dripping water everywhere.

Now, see, this is what he doesn't like about the rain. The dramatic, romantic, nostalgic side of being under it that seems to wash away every one of his problems? He likes it, adores it even. But the cold, the sadness, and the emptiness that leaves behind? He despises it even more.

 _It's_ , and he cringes at the metaphor he is about to make even before he thinks it, _like a one-night stand_. The actual act can be pretty fulfilling, excitingly dangerous, it’s just an adventure, maybe just to get off something from your chest, but the aftermath is what throws all that off in a second, it was the lonely bed in the morning, the complete disregard of respect or the feeling of use and fleetness.

 _Launchpad wouldn’t be like that_ , his brain unhelpfully supplies, adding gasoline to the fire, _not even in a one-night-stand, he is probably all kind and beautiful as he always is. Maybe he cuddles afterward, maybe he buys breakfast in the morning, maybe the next morning he gives head and towers over you and kisses your—_

A towel to the face interrupts his actual train of thought (thank Darkwing, because his legs are too tight against each other to look natural), and he just moves it out of his face to pout at Launchpad.

Launchpad looks sheepish and in a hurry. "I have to get the Ratcatcher because, umm, I think we left it in the rain" Drake's eyes widen and he's about to freak out but Launchpad puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I’ll get it, you go take a shower, yeah?” he kisses his forehead with complete naturalness and goes away without waiting for an answer, leaving Drake following his frame with his eyes until he disappears from the garage.

He hums a little contemplatively to himself, touching his forehead distractedly, his eyes still focused where Launchpad has disappeared. It takes him an embarrassingly little sneeze to realize that he has to take a shower, and fast before he gets sick and can’t go to patrol the next night. He follows a simple step-by-step to go get it and concentrates only on that (not letting his brain take his last train of thought back).

Take off your watch, your plaid shirt and then your binder. Put the towel where you can reach. Open the water stream, get under it. Wash your hair, and go down from there. Rinse. Close the water stream. Dry yourself.

It isn’t until he’s drying his hair that he realizes with sudden shame that, well.

_Oh, I don’t have spares clothes here._

He pokes his head out the door, looking around hoping Launchpad has come back already. Launchpad did, and Drake notices he’s already in some grey sweat pants putting his own wet clothes away (he also belatedly notices the Ratcatcher covered completely with a blanket, yeah, no suspicious at all).

“Launchpad!” Drake scream-whispers, calling his attention in the first try. He thinks he sees Launchpad double-taking him with a blush for a second, but the expression is gone by then and he’s smiling as dorky as ever.

“Any problem, Drake?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m gonna need some clothes,” he asks shyly, holding the towel against his chest more out of custom than actual thought.

The answer makes Launchpad look a little troubled, scratching the back of his neck with a thoughtful expression. He smiles reassuringly next and with a simple _“no problem, DW. Be right back!”_ he leaves. He comes back not much later, with a _really big_ (it’s just Launchpad-sized, honestly) black shirt on his hand, he extends it to him and Drake has no idea why he’s doing it from far but he doesn’t question it and takes it with a grateful smile and a quiet _“thanks”_.

“It’s the cleanest I got!” And actually, Drake doesn’t want to question that either, even if Launchpad sounds very proud at the fact. “Oh! Give me your clothes though, so I can put them away in the washer with mine.”

“Oh, yeah, just give me a second.”

He closes the door and looks at his binder with doubt, one thing is knowing and another facing it. The doubt doesn’t stay for too long, however. He shrugs his fear away with a simple thought: _this is Launchpad._ So, he puts the shirt on, so big on him that he practically swims in it, and gets out the bathroom, clothes and watch in hand.

When he looks up to give Launchpad his clothes, he finds him gawking at him, his expression flushed, open and unapologetic. There’s something in Drake that’s extremely pleased with the reaction, something that tugs at his strings and makes him feel warm and _wanted_. He waits just a bit, just to see if Launchpad realizes what he is doing but if anything he seems to be staring at him harder by the second.

"Launchpad? Um, clothes?" He asks, fidgeting with them a little because there’s a part of him that can't stand Launchpad's silent stare, the part that's full of anxiety and needs validation every _~~more than~~_ once in a while.

Launchpad blinks rapidly like he just got out of a daze, and with an appreciative smile and his voice full of awe he says: "Oh, right, I— Sorry, DW, it’s just— you look good, like _really_ , really good.”

Drake flushes instantly, more than satisfied with the answer, and smiles at him, giving him the clothes. “You just said that because I’m wearing your shirt,” he teases, a raised brow and a playful smile. He knows it’s more than that, but it’s obvious the shirt has something to do with it.

“Maybe,” Launchpad complies with a laugh, receiving the clothes, and simply puts the binder and his plaid shirt in the mini washing machine. None of his facial expressions change at all and Drake feels compelled to just kiss his cheek for it.

“What was that for?” he sounds curious, and nothing else.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, smiling to himself “come on, you said you have all the Darkwing Duck’s seasons in VHS, show me.”

By half of the first episode, Drake is technically on his lap, his legs over Launchpad’s, the rest of his body curled against his side and whispering all lines that he had memorized by heart. Launchpad recites only his favorite ones, his smile expanding every time his voice and tone matches Drake's own, and every time that happens, Drake himself would squeeze closer and smile softly to himself.

They spend the rest of that episode like that. At the start of the second episode, the hand Launchpad has firmly grabbing his waist starts moving, drawing perfect little circles with his thumb, Drake comments nothing, but a side-glance to Launchpad’s rather concentrated face in the episode confirms him that he’s doing it unconsciously.

The movement is soothing on itself, until it’s not only his thumb but his whole hand that does the action, absentmindedly going under the shirt and touching flesh and feathers instead, leaving Drake completely silent. All the lines he had memorized suddenly gone. Drake can’t help the sigh that escapes him much later when the touch has been building up his arousal little by little, but Launchpad doesn’t even seem to realize.

Ok, that’s it, he can’t take it anymore.

"Hey," Drake whispers, a little hoarse because they haven't talked in a while (four episodes and a half). Launchpad immediately smiles and turns to see him, unaware of what he was doing to Drake, his eyes half-lidded and looking especially good with only the lighting of the television illuminating a side of his face.

"Hey, buddy," he whispers back, and Drake feels silly for saying _“hey”_ in the first place like they’re in some kind of bad cliché teenage romance movie, but he can’t begin to care when Launchpad is looking at him like _that_. Like, if Drake asked, he would bring him the stars and the moon in less than a heartbeat. It makes him want to give himself completely to Launchpad in just the same way.

He doesn’t even try to hide his intention when his hand goes forward, guiding Launchpad with it on his cheek until they’re beak-to-beak and there’s no other option than to kiss. And Launchpad does so instantly, both of them closing their eyes and giving away a kiss after the other, lazily, thoroughly and contently. Drake groans and pulls, because he wants Launchpad on him, fitting perfectly in the space he creates between his legs only for Launchpad, his weight pinning Drake to the couch.

“Drake,” Launchpad’s voice drops several beats and Drake’s heart jumps, he yanks him further into him by reaction.

Launchpad is trying very hard to not crush Drake under his weight but it takes the shorter one pulling him with his legs to realize it’s futile. Launchpad can’t help it anymore, he starts moving on Drake, looking for any sign of rejection, but if anything he moans relieved, probably at the friction of his erection against his flesh, even with the clothes in the way. Launchpad groans, moving to kiss his neck instead, his insides twisting at the obvious bliss in Drake’s expression, glad that this time he’s doing for him.

It’s hot and heavy and with the power to drive Drake mad.

But it’s more than all of that for Drake.

It’s the hands sneaking under the shirt, softly tracing with the tip of his fingers from his tights to his waist, leaving behind a path of sensations that leaves Drake with no other option than for his body to seek more of it and shiver.

It’s the way Launchpad towers over him, lovingly kissing the side of his neck, groaning deeply and keeping him pinned to the couch, making him feel protected and desired, the feathers on the back of his neck standing and his webbed feet digging at Launchpad's lower back and curling at all the stimulus.

It’s Drake himself, mewling loudly and happily and latching onto Launchpad's shoulders like a lifeline, his legs firmly pressing at his sides and lazily matching Launchpad’s thrusts on him.

It’s – _embarrassingly_ – the background sound of the Darkwing Duck's episodes they are – _impressively–_ ignoring.

But what makes Drake bend is—

"God, you're so gorgeous."

Drake immediately moans, the pressure in his body reacting to the praise like fire to gasoline. He uses his hold on Launchpad’s shoulders like an anchor and starts meeting his thrusts with more intent, making the taller man groan deeply and sputter more compliments and words of admiration.

“Launchpad,” he moans a little higher and desperate, when a specific trust just as much as teases his entrance and Launchpad’s movement comes to a halt, his breath heavy and harsh in Drake’s ear.

"Launchpad?" Drake asks when he stops, it’s breathy and he’s a little dazed for being forcefully dragged out of the trance he was in. Launchpad looks rather sheepish and his white feathers are quite red but Drake can’t _not_ see the look of adoration and longing he throws his way.

He can see Launchpad visibly take a grounding breath and in the next second, he asks softly:

"Can I make love to you?"

Out of nowhere, Drake's awareness of his surroundings comes back like a snap. He can listen to the tape still rolling on the VHS, clearly hearing every line of the episode (it’s the seventh, season one, not one of his favorites but he enjoys it); he can feel the splinters of the old and ragged red couch digging uncomfortably at his back, hurting him just a bit; he can hear too, the pitter-patter of the rain against the metal of the garage’s door, reminding him of what lead to all this; he can smell the essence of the shampoo coming off of himself and Launchpad, their individual smells intermingling with it.

All those tiny details come barreling like a canon and he has no idea what to do with them except to distract himself a little from the expectant and patient look in Launchpad’s face and the erection digging at his stomach.

_Can I make love to you?_

It has been said so timidly, so softly and God, it is so cheesy. If it had been any other situation, like if he had read it on some script he had had to memorize, Drake would have grimaced and refused to even acknowledge it. But here, whispered with so much adoration and affection and from the person he loves so much, Drake can't help but feel overwhelmed by the emotion growing in his chest like wildfire. He feels like he can barely breathe but he knows he has to answer, and fast, because he has been silent for absolutely too long (never mind that Launchpad was nothing but patience and understanding).

Not trusting his voice to convey the message, he tightens his arms around Launchpad's neck and hides his face in his shoulder, his cheeks firing up warmly like a candle. Before his actual nerves get to him, Drake nods eagerly against his shoulder, receiving an enthusiastic _“yes!”_ and a popping kiss to his temple, making Drake snort and laugh in the process.

Launchpad separates enough to see him in the face, his excited smile covering it completely, and the butterflies in Drake's stomach immediately flutter at it. But the smile wavers a little and Drake looks at him with concern.

Launchpad caresses his cheek with apprehension. "Are you sure though? I mean, I don’t want—”

Drake simply rolls his eyes and doesn’t even let him finish. He yanks him by his hair, pulling him back for a fierce kiss as the answer, hard and sloppy. When they separate, Launchpad is blinking owlishly at him, his hair a disaster and his expression open and flushed.

A satisfied smile makes its way into Drake's features, a little too delighted that he can leave Launchpad in that state, all his nervousness flying off the window with that little ego-stroking. Drake gives him a peck, simply because he can, and says openly:

"Look, I trust you, ok? I know you will stop when I say it and I'll stop if you say it. I– Launchpad," he gives him another peck, this time with a little more intent, looking into his eyes when he finishes, "I love you.”

He has no idea what his words do to Launchpad, but he knows they are the correct ones when Launchpad grabs his jaw and kisses him, suddenly impatient and hungry and like he’s about to eat him alive, giving Drake's tail a little tug with his other hand that made him whimper and respond to the kiss with more sounds and his tongue.

“I love you too,” and Launchpad separates to kiss his shoulder, “I adore ya,” he goes to kiss his forehead and takes his hand, holding it dear to his chest, “do you?” he asks finally.

He looks a little nervous, gripping his hand like he was holding for dear life, and Drake feels reassured by the fact he’s not the only one with the wrecked nerves around. With adoration, he takes his hand back and cradles Launchpad’s cheeks between his hands.

“All that and more,” Drake replies, his eyes full on affection and his feathers blushed beautifully, he kisses him again, harder and sloppier than the last one, his hands now traveling slowly from his cheeks to his chest and then he is playing with the elastic of his sweat pants, his feet starting to pull them down. “LP. This. Off. You can’t make love to me with these on.”

Launchpad giggles under his breath, but he complies, sitting down and letting Drake finally see the bulge that not even the loose sweat pants could hide. Drake scoots closer and he takes it to help Launchpad put down the pants enough for only his underwear to be in the way of seeing it. His stomach seems to go a little insane at the thought, but with Launchpad’s hands on his own, they finally freed his cock, the member immediately slapping against his stomach. Launchpad audibly moans, relieved, but Drake can’t process at all anything else that isn’t, well.

Drake blinks and his curious hands are already ghosting along with it, Launchpad groaning deeply at the slight stimulation, and Drake has to actively do the effort to not whimper needy at it.

“And…” Drake knows maybe he should stop staring by this point but, honestly? He has to accept he just can’t. He knows it was going to be big, like everything Launchpad seems to own, but seeing it is very educating at how his previous experiences pale in every way possible with Launchpad. “Where do you plan to put that exactly, big guy?”

 _A toy would come closer in size than any other living being,_ one of his traitorous thoughts provides as unhelpfully as always.

Drake thinks he’s going to laugh but Launchpad simply smiles empathetically (not that he knows considering his gaze is still fixated down there), stroking with reassurance his waist. “You’re the boss, you say.”

“Oh!” and Drake is the one to chuckle, finally looking up sheepishly. He thought Launchpad was going to impose something but he is too perfect, it seemed. Drake thinks about it and after a moment he concludes: “well, preferably someplace that will take it easier, with a condom and—” he can’t help but look down again, and yep, too big— “and lube, yeah, lube.”

Launchpad does snort at that and kisses his temple with affection. “Alright then, be right back, babe.”

He feels too cold and a little too weightless when Launchpad leaves him alone on the couch, looking at him pull his pants back up while he walked away. Drake takes the time to turn off the TV and the VHS and to listen to the rain that’s still falling outside. The confidence that he has been gaining starts to crumble now that he’s alone and with only the rain as company, and it’s not because of the size (he wishes it was the size, the thought making him shiver with excitement more than scaring him).

It’s just his traitorous mind, the anxiety of what could come when they finish this. _Launchpad is not like that_ , he reminds himself. Launchpad said _“make love”,_ and he believes him, he truly does, that when he has sex with him he wouldn’t just…disappear. But his anxiety, the one that has been right before with people that Drake should have realized weren’t good, still doesn’t believe it. He sighs, troubled, he wishes the rain could wash away all his problems—

“Hey, babe,” Launchpad whispers when he comes back, interrupting Drake’s anxious thoughts. He looks pretty dorky with a big blanket and a pillow under his arms plus the things they need. Drake realizes then, what probably passed through Launchpad’s mind when he took those with him.

His anxiety comes to a stop. _What was he thinking again? This is Launchpad._

“Hey, big guy,” Drake replies with a soft smile, his hands are already extended and open to receive him and all his worries seem to wash away just like that. That seems to break Launchpad a little, because in an instant he drops everything and comes to hug him pretty happily, making Drake laugh.

“Launchpad, the things!”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he goes back and retrieves them all under one arm and, nicely, with his free hand he makes Drake get up from the couch. He gives him the lube and the condom and goes to accommodate the blanket and the pillow on the couch until it looks extremely comfortable and Drake has the childish desire to jump in it. Launchpad signals at it with proudness. “What do you think?”

Drake wants to laugh, “That the evil couch is not gonna hurt me anymore. Thanks, you’re my hero.”

Launchpad beams immediately, his hands now at his waist in a heroic pose, “Oh, it’s nothing! Anything to help a citizen in need.”

“Oh, yeah?” Drake playfully continues, swaying his hips a little while he walks to him, he lays his free hand on his chest and flutters his eyelashes. He can see how Launchpad visibly gulps. “Well, I think I should thank you in some way.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.” And he pulls him into a forceful kiss, still having to get on his tiptoes even when LP immediately bends for him. He nips and licks and hears Launchpad groan until he pushes him to the couch and Launchpad falls on it with a flushed expression. He puts the lube and the condom just beside the couch and just when he is about to take off the over-sized shirt, Launchpad stops him with his hands gripping hard at his waist, a little possessively if he is honest. “Umm?”

“Can you, umm, can you keep the shirt?”

_Oh._

Drake bites his lower lip, and nods, and instead goes for the border of Launchpad’s sweat pants. With Launchpad’s help, he takes everything off until he is gloriously naked in front of Drake. He takes a moment to bask in the image until he feels needier than before and he has to get on top of Launchpad. _Now_. He jumps on him, making Launchpad yelp at the sudden weight and moan at Drake sitting over his dick. He can’t help the curse that escapes him, but Drake purrs at the sensation of his entrance over that cock, not quite inside but teasing his nerves. He rocks himself on him and Launchpad immediately reciprocates, his hands flying to Drake’s waist.

Drake takes one of the hands that are resting on his waist and slowly but surely, moves it up until he can take two fingers into his mouth, watching at Launchpad through dazed eyes. Launchpad suddenly paralyzes, doesn’t move his eyes from him, too mesmerized by his action. His beak is slightly open and his erection twitches under Drake’s weight. Drake closes his eyes for a second, only to moan loudly around his fingers, making LP buckle up them deeper. He releases them with a pop, a string of saliva still connecting the digits with his lower lip.

“Shit, Drake,” Launchpad sounds breathless, and Drake can feel him shiver between his legs, he raises himself while he guides Launchpad’s hand down his body until his fingers are just teasing his entrance. “You sure?” he murmurs against his beak, Drake nods slightly and with his own hand, he inserts Launchpad’s fingers inside his tight heat. Fuck lube.

It feels like a whole lot more and Drake has to take a steady breath to not fall on Launchpad with his suddenly unstable legs. Launchpad takes his fingers out, and Drake immediately whimpers sadly, looking at him with a pout. Launchpad gives him a lop-sided smile.

“Didn’t you want lube?”

Drake has to accept that he does, and for a good reason, because the cock that is wetting his tight right at that moment is so much bigger than Launchpad’s two fingers. Drake nods and raises his hand, Launchpad immediately takes it with his free one, intertwining their fingers firmly and squeezing.

When the fingers go inside him again, this time lubed, and start scissoring, he winces a little bit, and Launchpad immediately kisses his hand reassuringly, “if you wanna do it yourself, I—.”

“Won’t be enough,” Drake answers unintentionally harsh, interrupting him, squeezing their hands tighter. Launchpad doesn’t take it to heart and instead, takes his hand back to help Drake on his back, coaxing him on the pillow. He strokes his tight softly and kisses his knee until Drake relaxes again on his fingers. When he does, Launchpad talks to him, at the same time that he fucks him slowly with his fingers.

“You know, the first time I saw you?” Drake blinks a little at him, panting heavily, but he nods to confirm he’s listening. “I thought ‘this guy is just as excited as me, how cool’.”

“Really?” Drake laughs a little, he bites his lower lip when LP’s fingers graze something particular but not quite there yet. “I thought my first impression had been ‘oh my God, this dude is nuts’.”

Launchpad shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. He is moving his fingers quite extensively, making Drake sigh and thrust himself on them and Launchpad tries to guide his fingers inside him, looking for that spot again, the one that he knows will make Drake forget everything else. “Nah, who doesn’t get nervous when they’re gonna meet their idol? I fainted, right? But what did you think?”

“Me?” Drake asks, he is having quite a hard time following the conversation, his brain a little more concentrated on the tight feeling running down his chest and the fingers pumping in his entrance. But the conversation is good at distracting him for the slow build of pressure that’s starting to grow until his eyes cloud.

“Yah. What did you think of me?”

“B-big,” he immediately answers with a bit of a laugh, stuttering when Launchpad almost hits that spot again, teasing the sensation and making him go to the edge.

“Fair enough,” Launchpad snorts, kissing Drake’s neck. Very slowly, very carefully, a third already lubed finger gets added, Drake immediately moans. “Drake, what did you think next?”

Drake wants to answer but his ability to breath is ripped apart of him. “Breathe,” Launchpad commands, and automatically Drake tries to obey it.

“What did you think?” he asks again, a little more forcefully this time when Drake rocks himself on his fingers and ends grazing his cock with the movement.

“I—,” Drake tries to answer, but his head is getting overwhelmed, his hands trying to reach Launchpad’s cock but settling to grope at his chest instead, trying to find some anchor for his slipping mind.

He wants to say _“I thought you were the kindest person I’ve ever met”, “that you were really attractive”_ , _“that you were so smart and I’ve never met someone as incredible as you”_ , and _“that I wanted to see you again”_ but his ability to talk seems to have gone somewhere else entirely.

“There!” he shouts out of nowhere and he faintly hears Launchpad’s voice exclaiming _“jackpot!”_ and before Drake can acknowledge it he’s moaning, wriggling and trying to get those fingers deeper inside him. It’s not enough and Launchpad’s fingers finally finding his spot are not helping matters. His fingers are digging harshly into Launchpad’s chest, probably taking out a feather or two, but Launchpad is taking it like a champ, nipping at his neck and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Drake swears he’s going insane.

“Enough,” Drake snaps, kicking Launchpad’s back a little with the heels of his feet until he backs away surprised and looks at him. With the space to move, Drake turns around until he can look for the condom just beside the couch, sadly forcing Launchpad to retreat his fingers but aiming his butt at him instead, and LP can’t complain. When he finds it, he immediately rips the wrapper with his teeth and Launchpad, definitely, cannot complain.

It takes his breath away for a second, Drake’s little frame with his back at him, his tail actually wagging animatedly, poking from under the shirt _—his shirt—_ , Launchpad’s shirt that was too big on him and he doesn’t even want it back, he wants it on Drake all the time if possible. His white feathers are red through his cheeks and he looks gorgeous and amazing and Launchpad wants to smother him with attention and pull every trick he knows just to make him feel all the good he possibly can.

Launchpad wants to grab at his waist and pull his back flush against his chest and roam his hands under the shirt and kiss his neck until it’s just as red as his cheeks, but in the next second Drake is rolling down the condom on his cock without warning, obliging him to get out of his little scenario. Then, Drake jumps at him and kisses him, and Launchpad is quick enough to catch him and encircle his arms completely around him, Drake doing the same with his arms and legs like some kind of koala. Launchpad reciprocates the kisses that are, in opposition to the unhinged energy Drake has been throwing at him, actually slow and throughout and deep.

“Ready?” Launchpad asks when he finally stops kissing him, Drake takes a steady breath with his eyes closed and then opens them, affection pouring out of his eyes, and nods with simplicity. He’s smiling pretty excitedly though, tugging at Launchpad’s heartstring with ease. He nods back and finally lays Drake back on the couch. Drake opens his legs and supports his hands on his shoulders, letting him plenty of space to move. He supports one of his arms at one side of Drake’s head and the other takes his cock in hand, aligning it with Drake’s entrance.

Launchpad has the unsolicited urge to say “Let’s get dangerous!” but he keeps it to himself. Maybe next time, he knows Drake won’t mind. Instead, he says with the softest voice he can muster: “Relax, babe.” He feels Drake shiver at it, but he does relax as he asks him.

The way Launchpad pushes inside it's torturous measured but tender, it makes Drake throw his head back, his eyes closed and frowning, his beak opening slightly but not making any sound, and his fingers drawing lines through Launchpad’s arms. Launchpad, for his part, is grunting deeply, one of his hands gripping the blanket and the other pinning Drake to the couch by his waist, he can’t help but hide his face in the crook of Drake’s neck. After all that build-up, the heat alone almost makes him come. Drake trembles completely, from head to toe and Launchpad feels it everywhere.

They take their time, a lot of time until finally, Launchpad rams the rest of the way in, his pelvis presses flush against Drake and they both let out hitched moans. Launchpad has to stop there, suddenly overwhelmed, his blush traveling down his neck and maybe his chest.

"Launchpad," Drake murmurs breathless but doesn't seem able to say anything else. His legs are pressed tightly against his sides, and Launchpad takes the time to rub reassuring circles under the shirt.

Drake is panting heavily and now digging his fingers in Launchpad's back with little awareness that he is doing so. Launchpad gives him as much time as he needs to get used to him (and him, to get used to the tight heat), peppering with kisses every little place he could reach, and feeling Drake twitching under him.

"Take your time, my love, no rush," Launchpad whispers, nuzzling his top feathers. The little comment is received with a soft moan and fingers that loosened a little bit at his back.

He doesn't have to give Drake much time, though.

Drake stops digging his fingers into his back, instead, he grabs the couch firmly. And with little to no warning, Drake slides himself up and drops back down with a loud moan.

Launchpad's heart almost jumps out of his chest. He may be the one that needs the time now.

"Holy–", he doesn't have the oxygen to finish, but he finds himself gripping harder to the blanket in an attempt to not groan so loud that the whole mansion will hear him ( _not that it would matter_ , he thinks distractedly for one second, _all the kids are out with Della and Scrooge for the weekend and Mrs. Beakley told him she would be outside all night)._

Drake giggles _–giggles–_ breathily, his hands let go of the blanket under him and he’s cradling Launchpad’s cheeks between them, his beak is gracing his own, his eyes half-lidded in an expression that’s making Launchpad’s cock twitch. Drake smiles at him, mischievous but soft, and murmurs against his beak:

“Launchpad, make love to me, please.”

It’s all the permission he needs.

He starts to move slowly, to find a rhythm and Drake’s spot yet again, with his cock this time. But soon enough Drake is pulling his hair back to make him look at him and says: “I can take it.” And Launchpad takes _that_ to heart, so his hands go to take Drake’s legs, grabbing at his tights and pressing them flush against Drake’s chest, and _absolutely hammers_ him against the couch, receiving a choked sob and a mewling happy sound as a response. He keeps doing it like that, pressing Drake against the couch like he wants to crush him, his grunts and groans intermingling with Drake’s whimpers and moans.

Drake keeps trying to say his name but he can’t, the same sound _–Lah-ah-ah-ah–_ going on over and over, and it's driving Launchpad crazy. He rams in yet again, harder this time and he gets his prize in the form of Drake finally shouting his name beautifully, his eyes are closed and he looks absolutely gorgeous with his hair a disaster and his little _ah, ah, ah._

“You’re so beautiful,” he can’t help but let his mouth run rampant, and Drake’s hands tighten on his hair at the sound of his voice. “And strong and amazing, I have never, _ah_ , never met someone like you before. I—.”

_I want to stay with you forever._

He doesn’t get to say it, because in the next second Drake is encircling his legs around his waist and pressing their chests tightly against each other like he wants to be as close as physically possible.

“Launchpad,” the lustful whimper makes him buckle up deeper than before, Drake moans louder but he keeps trying to continue, and like he read his mind, he whispers, “please, stay with me forever.”

Launchpad stops abruptly, suddenly astounded and he feels his throat tight and a pressure in his chest that comes before the act of crying.

“Launchpad? Are you okay?” his voice is full of worry and Launchpad wants to do nothing more than to answer yes, he is, he is actually extraordinarily happy, but his voice is suddenly gone and he can’t tell him everything he feels.

Because how can Launchpad explain? The devastating sensation that you are no more than the guide from a point to their destiny, that you can never be both, that you are disposable. To make people grow but never grow yourself. That no one wants you to stay once you have made yourself useful in the way they wanted.

“I— D-do you mean it?” Launchpad trembles in his arms and he refuses to let Drake see him.

Drake gasps softly, the sudden realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. Launchpad is so kind, so gentle, and so perfect in his eyes, it never passes his mind that maybe he didn’t feel wanted either. Drake has no idea who made him feel like that, but he is determined to change it.

“Launchpad, look at me, please,” it takes him a moment but he is able to make Launchpad see him, his eyes look glazed and Drake wants to do nothing more than kiss him until he never doubts someone can love him ever again, “I want absolutely nothing more than to stay with you, here and everywhere, all the time. I love you, and I know you love me. Of course I mean it.”

Launchpad chuckles relieved, and that assures Drake that he’s alright. “May be a hassle.”

“Yeah but,” and he rocks himself a little on the cock that it’s still inside him, making Launchpad moan, and Drake smiles satisfied, “I can handle you.”

Launchpad’s smile is of the size of his entire being and he kisses him, slow and beautiful until Drake feels himself on cloud nine. When he separates, Drake caresses his cheeks, cleans off the tears that are about to spill, and gives him a simple peck.

“Now, big guy,” and he rests on the blanket yet again with a comforting smile, “show me how much you want to stay with me.”

Launchpad nods, determined like he’s on a mission and Drake would have snorted at his expression if Launchpad has not immediately done as he said.

He fucks him positively silly– suddenly he can’t think in something else that is not this man right over him kissing him lovingly and ramming into him harshly. He wraps his arms against Launchpad’s neck, squeezing himself against him almost desperately and Launchpad brings one of his hands down between his legs. He pulls back and slams in, again and again with his hand moving over his flesh until Drake can’t kiss him anymore and can only moan and move his hips to meet Launchpad halfway.

Abruptly, Drake’s vision clouds, a choked sob gets out of him and he stands still while he comes. He may be gripping at Launchpad’s hair too hard but he’s still getting fucked through his orgasm and can’t begin to care about it. He gasps and whimpers and tightens around him, and it only takes Launchpad a few more thrusts until he’s coming too, pushing in as deep as he can and groaning intensely in his ear.

He’s lost to the world for a moment, his brain shutting down and all his skin feeling like electricity is running through. He can feel a kiss and Drake out of pure instinct responds, lazily and quiet but not less adoring. When Launchpad stops kissing him, he slumps on him, trying to catch his breath.

“Drake, are you okay?” He asks out of breath and moves just a little so he isn’t completely on him. Drake shivers completely under him, all his skin still sensitive to any move. Launchpad continues with a worried voice: “I feel like I’m crushing ya.”

“I’m fine, Launchpad” he sounds completely out of breath and definitely like he shouldn’t be getting crushed, but Drake is too content right there where he is and he’s not about to let it go. When Launchpad tries to get up definitely, before his cock completely goes back to its place and the condom makes a disaster, Drake’s legs jail him forcefully, making him lose his balance and crush him more than before. “You move and I’m not letting you play with Dr. Bushroot anymore.”

“Aw, but Drake, if I don’t go take the condom out is gonna leave a disaster or worse, it’s gonna keep inside you.”

“Hmph, just leave it there.”

“Really?”

Drake then opens his eyes, frowning and pouting, he might have realized what he said because now he cringes and replies, “ugh, no.”

Launchpad laughs, Drake grudgingly lets him go and it isn’t until he is no more over him that Drake realizes how truly boneless he feels, his muscles refusing to move at all and his feathers still standing everywhere. Even then, he feels silly, euphoric really, a little giggle gets out of him before he can stop himself, and the next moment he has to stop himself from laughing. He feels so free and happy, probably still riding the sudden surge of serotonin that overcomes him for the recent orgasm.

The rain is still ranging outside but Drake couldn’t care less.

When Launchpad comes back, Drake is already raising his arms to receive him, Launchpad’s comment comes: “You’re surprisingly cuddly afterward, not that I’m complaining, ya know? I really like it, cuddling, especially you—”

 _Launchpad is surprisingly talkative afterward,_ Drake realizes belatedly before he interrupts him.

“LP, just cuddle me.”

Launchpad chuckles and complies, not without passing the opportunity to say a teasing “bossy too.”

They keep like that for some quiet moments, Launchpad is preening him and Drake is slowly getting dizzy and sleepy. Launchpad has to get up at some moment (though Drake kept hugging him with pure strength like he was some kind of koala with all his extremities surrounding him), he does what he has to do like Drake is not clinging to him at all (he has no idea what Launchpad does, his eyes are closed and he just to want to cuddle him).

His gravity center changes and that makes him open his eyes, he belatedly realizes he is now on Launchpad, the blanket over him and the pillow (where had that pillow go anyway?) under Launchpad’s head. Launchpad stares at him with adoration and Drake responds with the same, happily resting his face in his boyfriend’s chest.

“Drake?”

“Buh?” Drake is sleepy but willing to hear him.

“Stay the weekend?”

Drake hums happily at that, his lazy smile growing at the implication.

“Forever, Launchpad. Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted them to have nice sex and called it making love and feel loved and wanted, and I wanted LP to call Drake "my love", you know?
> 
> If you want, talk to me about duck dick 'n Drake's thot tendencies on my [Tumblr](https://naughtod.tumblr.com/) or follow me in [Twitter](https://twitter.com/naughtod).


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